


it's all for you, everything i do

by moonshinelouis



Series: canon-ish [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Edging, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Fluff and Smut, Kneeling, M/M, Oral Sex, Service Kink, Service Submission, Smut, Subspace, Teasing, i dislike tagging smut far too much for someone who like. writes smut, oh god here we go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23413912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonshinelouis/pseuds/moonshinelouis
Summary: Harry's needy, Louis plays bored.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: canon-ish [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663732
Comments: 14
Kudos: 202





	it's all for you, everything i do

**Author's Note:**

> **you don't have to read the other works in this series.** they're unrelated, i just personally think of them as connected. 
> 
> title from video games by lana del rey 
> 
> [tumblr](https://moonshinelouis.tumblr.com/post/614136438681944064/its-all-for-you)

Harry is very quiet to sit beside Louis. He doesn’t make a sound while walking down the hall to the living room, stepping lightly and softly, save for a content exhale as he sits beside Louis on the couch, the only indication that he’s actually alive. No _hey, Lou,_ no _what are you playing?,_ no kiss hello, no nothing. Louis turns slightly from his game, only a side glance with his peripheral vision, and sees Harry’s pale torso, fully naked save for the black pants he’s got on and the collar around his neck.

“What’re you playing at?” Louis asks, already half-knowing but not indulging him fully, not looking away from his video game or leaning into him.

Harry inhales sharply, caught, embarrassed to need attention yet too needy to back away. “Want you,” he whispers, touching Louis’ bicep delicately, with just the tips of his fingers. 

“Hmm,” Louis hums. “I’m playing FIFA right now,” he says, not moving, not looking away from the screen. They’ve played like this before, where Louis fakes disinterest to rile Harry up until he’s more than desperate, aching for attention, feeling used in the best way possible.

Harry whimpers by his ear, just a hot, needy breath, like he’s about to sob with frustration. It’s beautiful. “Please,” he begs, still in that moist croon, kissing Louis’ neck, slipping his hand under Louis’ shirt to fiddle with the band of his pants, not going any further as he’s not allowed but making his desire and intentions clear.

“I’m busy right now, Harry,” Louis drones, voice unwavering though his cock is half-hard and they both know it. 

Harry huffs, a whiny breath by his neck, so desperate, begging for attention but loving the edging. “Lou,” he implores wetly once more, thinking that will get him what he wants. He slips to his knees, mouthing at Louis’ thighs, a preview of what he could give him, going close to his crotch but never there, teasing, holding his hands behind his back and looking up at Louis through his lashes, making his eyes seem bigger and shinier, making himself truly appetizing, though he always is to Louis.

“You do look very pretty,” Louis allows, glancing (disinterested and quickly) down at Harry, who beams at the attention. He tilts his head, biting his lip, and puts his neck all for show, sadly pale and unmarked, a blank canvas. Louis pauses his game, sighing, pretending it’s a huge ordeal. “It’d be a waste to not appreciate the view,” he laments, as though bored, but his completely hard cock says otherwise. “Why don’t you look all pretty for me, love? On your hands and knees, so I can watch you?” It’s not really a question, but Harry knows he can say no if he needs to.

He flushes and glows and scrambles to turn around, swaying his bum slightly, thighs parted and head resting on his hands held together as in prayer, weight on his knees and elbows. He lets out little whines and breathless sighs while kneeling, both embarrassed and pleased at being admired and finally given some attention, but also increasingly impatient, hot and bothered, teasing himself with his own imagination as Louis does not touch his skin, does not say a word – yet Harry’s breathing staggers and quickens and his hips circle, humping the air, and Louis simply carries on playing.

Eventually Harry lets out a small cry, extra whiny, and pushes his bum back in Louis’ direction and he pauses the game, sighs as if bothered, and asks, “Do you need something?” He wants to touch, wants to squeeze Harry’s bum and hear the pleased, whimpered sigh he’ll cry out at the touch, but he’s playing hard-to-get. He stays put. 

Harry mewls, pushing his body towards Louis again wordlessly. 

“I’ll need you to use your words, love,” Louis tuts.

Harry pules. “I want you,” he cries, stretching his hands flat on the carpet and curving his back.

Louis sighs, but he wants to smirk, wants to kiss Harry breathless for being so _good,_ so hot, so _trusting._ But he’s playing a role right now; he throws the remote control to the side, letting it fall into the crack of the sofa, and pats his thigh, breathing out in forced exasperation. “On your knees for me, wanna see you,” he says, as bored as he can muster while completely hard. 

Harry turns, and Louis wants to whimper himself. He’s been biting his lips to keep some of his groans in, Louis can tell: they’re plump and reddened and abused, raw; his cheeks are scarlet and burning hot and he’s sweating, glueing his hair to his forehead, curling them even more. It doesn’t help that he’s twisting his chin downward, looking up at Louis through his lashes, fake-innocence pouring through his pores. 

“God,” Louis mutters, unsticking some curls from his skin, going really close to Harry’s face to smell his sweat, to lick the side of his face a little, just because he’s so _irresistible,_ he just makes Louis crazy, makes him want to do bizarre things like feel how hot Harry’s become (because of _him)_ with his tongue, makes him want to know exactly how bothered he got just from _waiting,_ makes him want to just swallow all of his needs and sounds down his throat. 

Harry looks blissed, glowing under the attention, completely gone, mentally. Louis grins, delirious with lust and love and Harry’s taste. “Is that what you wanted?” he asks lowly, teasingly, mouthing at Harry's neck, right below his ear, then his earlobe. “To be reminded you’re very pretty, all mine, to get some attention?” 

Harry gasps when Louis nibbles his ear, breathy to say “Yes, yes, thank you” and completely blissed, but more stable, to add, “I love you.”

Louis weaves his fingers through Harry’s damp curls, hot wet with sweat, slow and careful not to pull or hurt him in an uncomfortable way, only pulling when he’s gathered all of his hair in his fist so that the pain is for pleasure. “I love you too,” he whispers, pushing Harry’s head to his chest and biting his shoulder, obsessed with every inch of Harry’s skin, far too mad with and in love to find it weird or crazy or care for the awkward angle they’re in.

“I–” Harry shudders, pleased, face mushed into Louis’ chest, nuzzling his skin and the little hairs he’s allotted there. He seems to forget that he was saying something, too gone, too intrigued by this new place he’s found right there by Louis’ heartbeat to remember something as trivial as verbal communication. 

“What is it, love?” Louis asks, chuckling, endeared. 

“I–” he pauses to breathe, chest heaving, breaths hot and damp against Louis’ skin, frowning slightly in confusion. “I wanna be good for you,” Harry sighs quietly into his chest, finally settled whereas before he had been agitated and displeased. He finally had Louis’ full attention; he’d get what he’d wanted all along.

“You're being very good for me already,” Louis argues, twirling a curl of Harry’s in between his finger and tugging gently. 

Harry whimpers, distraught, and pulls away from his chest to pout up at him, holding his hands together behind his back to seem extra appealing. “I wanna come,” he whines, but quiet as he’s embarrassed.

“Hmm, is that it?” Louis smirks and thumbs around his mouth, around his swollen, berry lips and evades his tongue trying to get a taste and to suck his thumb in, making Harry twist his face and whinge, beautifully frustrated when he doesn’t get what he wants. 

“Please, wanna make you feel good,” he whines, high-pitched and breathy.

Louis raises an eyebrow, finally letting Harry take his thumb into his mouth and _suck,_ letting him lick and drool and moan around it and think he’s teasing Louis when in reality all he’s doing is riling himself up. “All right,” Louis allows, back to playing disinterested just to hear the gorgeous whimper Harry cries out, and slips his finger out of his mouth with a slick pop. He raises himself off his bum just enough to shimmy out his joggers and pants and pumps his cock a few times, spreading precome all over it, just watching Harry trace the motion with hooded, darkened eyes and lick his bottom lip, seemingly not even doing it on purpose, he’s just incredibly distracted and breathing raggedly.

“Please,” he begs, voice flat and distant and low, only looking at Louis’ cock, mesmerised.

Louis ignores him. He’s wanking himself pleasurably now, just for himself, using Harry’s presence only as an incentive to keep screwing his hand down his shaft leisurely, unbothered, pleased with his little moans and sighs and the way he’s biting the inside of his lips and cheeks, doing all he can to keep still and be good for Louis like he said be would be. 

“Please,” he mutters again, desperate, his voice arid and lips plumper and redder than ever, begging to be stretched thin. This time he’s actually looking Louis in the eye, not his cock, so Louis gives in: he holds his head still by his curls as he teases his cock all around his lips, waiting for a final distraught, whimpered _please_ to finally shut him up, enjoying how his words get muffled, swallowed by his shaft.

At first he looks out for any discomfort behind Harry’s closed eyes, loving how blissed and completely trusting he is, acquiescing completely to Louis, and picks up a pace when he finds nothing but eagerness in his droopy, glossy eyes when Harry blinks lethargically up at him, throat stuffed, lips loose and raw and thin around him, waiting to be used, and Louis does: he moves his head up and down his shaft at his own desired pace, using Harry’s throat as he pleases. He’s not going very fast, preferring a more languid, hot blow job that has Harry both pleased and distressed, his cock angry-red and forgotten between his thighs, desperate for release, but he’s good; he stays completely pliant, throat servile and body malleable, keeping his hands behind his back without having to be reminded and breathing out lightly through his nose in sharp, sweet breaths. 

At last Louis tugs more harshly at Harry’s curls to keep him completely still as he comes, pulling him up to his lap to kiss his used mouth after he’s swallowed, basking in how Harry’s mouth tastes like _him,_ in how it’s _his,_ and takes his still-hard cock in his hand and twists his wrist rhythmically until he paints Louis’ chest white and crashes in his arms, putty-soft and warm and breathing lightly, pleased, smiling dopily into his skin, arms swung over Louis’ shoulders and fingers playing with the hair by his nape as Louis hugs him tightly, head buried in the crook of his neck, taking in his after-sex smell in pleasure, in delirium, proud to be the one to have done that, to have wrecked him to bliss. 

They lay there on the couch, come drying uncomfortably on their chests though all Louis can think about is how lucky he is, how in love he is, not bothered to get a bit messy if it means his lover gets to rest and gets pleased, gently caressing the roots of his hair and the knots of his spine, watching the afternoon sun disappear over the horizon until all that's left are desperate sun rays trying to hang on to the whisked clouds. When even those can’t stay anymore, pulled away from their view, replaced by the moon and her stars, Louis squeezes lightly at his hip, kissing him into sobriety, and takes them into the en suite for a shower, kissing slowly under the water and massaging each other’s skulls as they wash each other’s hair, staying in each other’s arms from the bathroom rug as they dry off to the bed as they stumble, still warm and sated and fresh, worn raw in the best way, falling asleep naked on top of the sheets and using each other’s bodies for warmth throughout the night and well into the next morning, too tired to move even in the unconscious state of sleep, too in love to let go at all when they wake up past noon and get up to it again, lost in youth and pleasure.

**Author's Note:**

> i know this is smut but i appreciate kudos and comments and [reblogs](https://moonshinelouis.tumblr.com/post/614136438681944064/its-all-for-you) <3


End file.
